


Cross My Heart

by blanketed_in_stars



Series: 52 Weeks of Wolfstar [50]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 14:16:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5500388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanketed_in_stars/pseuds/blanketed_in_stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are different now, but Remus can't help remembering the ways in which they're the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cross My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Week 50

The woman at the door is so dirty, so bloodstained, that for a moment Remus doesn’t recognize her. But even beneath the grime, her silvery hair gleams, and the scent of flowers mixes with the metallic tang, and he realizes that it’s Fleur—Fleur Delacour, standing in the hall with blood down her front and Tonks in her arms.

“Come in,” Remus says, pulling them both over the threshold and shutting the door. He helps them to the love seat and together he and Fleur lower Tonks onto the cushions. Her arm curves limply toward the floor; her head lolls. “What happened?” he demands, unable to see where the blood is coming from.

Fleur’s hands are stained scarlet, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she twists her fingers together. “We were following a pair of Death Eaters in Westminster and zey—we lost zem, and suddenly we were surrounded, and—” She takes a shaky breath. “I had to Apparate. Ze Muggles were everywhere, I couldn’t avoid it, but I don’t think anyone followed us ’ere.”

Remus kneels beside Tonks, unsure where to start. He notes the slight rise and fall of her chest and feels relieved—until he sees, closer now, her ashen skin and blue-tinged lips. And her breathing is quite shallow, he realizes. “You had no choice,” he says automatically. He knows he doesn’t sound reassuring, but his mind is racing, trying to think of a spell—any spell—

“I don’t know what hit her,” Fleur says. “I didn’t see. I think—the light was orange, but I’m not sure—”

Remus finds the wound, a gaping tear on Tonks’s side. “Help me turn her.”

Fleur joins him on the floor, her hands steady and her face set. They get Tonks positioned and cut away her shirt, revealing the full extent of the injury, but even then Fleur only swallows. She doesn’t look away.

“She’s still losing blood,” Remus says. He wracks his brain for a way to stop it, but comes up empty-handed. The knowledge is there, he knows it is, but— “I can’t think,” he says. He looks at Fleur, desperate. “Do you know of anything? Maybe something French?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Fleur pulls her wand from her sleeve. She’s nearly as pale as Tonks. _“Ralendu Sang,”_ she breathes. Miraculously, the flow of blood ceases almost instantly. Looking heartened, she adds, _“Remplivie.”_

“What did that do?”

“Her body will—make more blood,” Fleur says. “I am not sure of ze exact words in English, but I know it ’elps. We must do it again every hour for twenty-four hours.” She rubs her forehead with a weary hand, then looks at the blood on it in apparent surprise. The moment passes and she looks back at Tonks. “I don’t know if ze spell did more zan just zat. I don’t want to wait until she wakes up to find out.”

In her voice, Remus hears the same willful belief: that Tonks will wake up. There’s no choice but to act as if she will, because if they think that she won’t, then they won’t be able to think at all. “There’s nothing more we can do right now,” he says, making an effort to sound as if he has no doubts, “except keep her warm and comfortable. There are blankets in her room, it’s—”

But Fleur is already hurrying through the right door before Remus can tell her which one it is. She returns with a pile of quilts and duvets, the topmost being Tonks’s favorite, the one she wraps around herself when she doesn’t want to be out of bed. They clean away most of the blood and cover Tonks until only her face is visible.

“She looks so small,” Fleur says when they’ve finished. It’s almost as if she doesn’t mean to say it.

Remus has been thinking the same thing, and he doesn’t like to hear it aloud, but he can’t deny that it’s true when he looks at her. In unconsciousness, Tonks’s appearance has reverted to its natural state, the way he only ever saw it when she was grieving. The thought of death is even more unwelcome, so he clears his throat and turns to Fleur. “Why don’t you go wash up?” he says. “I’ll make tea.”

Fleur snorts, for a second sounding as haughty as ever. “Zere is coffee in ze cupboard,” she tells him, but gives a small smile.

He doesn’t ask how she knows, only washes his hands in the sink and takes out mugs. It takes a few tries to get the right cupboard, but eventually he does find the coffee and makes a whole pot, casting a charm to keep it warm. Then he makes his own tea and listens to the sound of running water in the shower.

He keeps stealing glances at Tonks, her vacant face and brown hair. His mind is a little calmer now—almost too calm. He feels removed from the whole situation. The only time he remembers this kind of disconnect was the day he watched Buckbeak land in the garden with Sirius on his back. The soapsuds up to his elbows. The sun in his eyes.

Remus shakes himself when Fleur emerges, smelling even more strongly of flowers than before. He thinks he recognizes the scent, but can’t remember where from. They sit drinking together on the stools at the counter, silent until Remus asks, “Is there anyone you need to contact?” Fleur gives him a confused look. “Anyone who ought to know what’s happened,” he explains. “Kingsley, maybe? Who gave you the mission?”

“Oh—yes, Kingsley, and I already told him.”

“We should tell her parents,” he says. He feels a twinge of guilt at not having thought of it sooner.

But Fleur shakes her head. “It’s almost midnight,” she says. “We can wake zem if anything changes.”

“I really think we should—”

“What would zey do?” Fleur asks. Her eyes are fixed on him, her expression hard. “How can zey make her better? Ze worst thing in ze world is to be helpless.” She shakes her head again. “If she—if she makes it to ze morning,” she says, “we will tell zem. And if she gets worse, we will tell zem.” After several moments, she says, “But she will not get worse, I am sure.”

Remus nods. He can’t bear to argue.

At some point, Fleur casts the blood-replenishing spell again, and then she falls asleep despite having had at least three cups of coffee. It doesn’t look very comfortable with her head resting on the plastic countertop, but Remus lets her be. Her exhaustion is obvious enough that he figures, if she could have moved to a better spot, she would have.

He takes his tea and sits in a folding chair closer to the love seat. At one o’clock, he does his best French accent and murmurs, _“Remplivie.”_ It seems to work well enough.

The minutes stretch out, an endless sea of silence and cooling tea. His gaze makes a circuit that becomes as difficult to break as trying not to think. He looks at Tonks, and it’s surprising even to him that he’s still living here. His gaze moves to the clock, and what would have happened tonight if he were staying somewhere else? To Fleur, and he’s sure it would have been fine either way, to the window, and maybe it would even have been better to not have this worry chewing on his gut. To the Weird Sisters poster, and he’s glad of the worry, because it’s better to worry while she’s alive than not to worry because she’s past help, to Tonks, and again, and again.

His thoughts drift once more to Sirius—never far from his mind, always most present when Remus is afraid. He thinks of the way they fretted about each other, even during the first war when everything seemed to be slipping through their fingers. Especially then. As terrifying as it was not to know where they stood with each other, standing alone was undoubtedly worse.

But he knows where he stands with Tonks. That makes it equally hard to see her like this, still and small and pale, and think of losing her. He knows how Sirius would deal with it: carry on, everything’s fine, until something explodes. But Remus has lost everything twice now and he has a routine worked out. He doesn’t think about all the things he can’t save, or how many hours it’s been, and he does his best not to think any more about Sirius. He just breathes.

Past one-thirty, he looks at Tonks and she looks back. For a moment Remus doesn’t comprehend it, but then he nearly falls out of his chair with the force of his relief. “How do you feel?” he whispers.

“‘M all right,” she breathes. “Where’s Fleur?”

“Sleeping. She’s fine.”

“Good.” Tonks gives him a searching look despite the sleepiness still written clearly on her face. “You didn’t worry, did you? ‘Cause you don’t need any more grey hair.”

Remus laughs, nearly giddy with the release from his captivating anxiety. “Not at all,” he lies. “I was pretty useless anyways. Fleur’s the hero.”

“She always is,” Tonks agrees, smiling slightly. Her words come slowly, but they come, and that’s all that matters to Remus. “She saved me, you know.”

“I know.”

“Westminster. I’d’ve died.”

“No,” Remus says flatly, “but I know what you mean. She’s got a good head.”

Tonks’s eyes sparkle. “Good other things, too,” she murmurs. Then she sighs. “Hey.”

From behind Remus comes the sound of Fleur nearly knocking over her stool. “You’re awake,” she says, kneeling beside the love seat by Tonks’s head.

“Still tired,” Tonks tells her. “Think I might have to take another nap.”

Fleur’s laughter sounds like bells. “As long as it is only a nap,” she says. “You must promise.”

“Cross my heart.”

Suddenly feeling his own stiff joints, Remus goes into the kitchen and puts his mug in the sink. He can still hear the two of them talking in low voices, but the words are lost as he closes his eyes and leans his forehead on the cupboard. He’s too relieved even to smile, now, and just breathes. She is going to be all right. She will live.

Eventually he turns and hears Fleur say something that ends in _ma moitié._ My other half. Remus knows just enough French to understand it. And then he looks at them, the blonde and pink heads bent close together, and wonders how he hasn’t understood sooner. The floral scent, the French wine, and the way Fleur now presses a kiss to Tonks’s forehead, gently and with care.

It’s a familiar scene. A private one, too. Remus turns away again and looks out the window at the London night, absently scanning the streets for Death Eaters but mostly just feeling. The relief. The liberation. The hope, though he’s not quite sure where that comes from.

He thinks again of Sirius landing in the garden, how they fell back into each other’s lives and, eventually, each other’s arms. Remus is without that comfort now, but he thinks—he thinks that although this is a flat and not a cottage, and although he doesn’t seem to be in his own story any more, this will do. There’s love enough for him in it, and peace in the quiet moments, and two people are holding hands, even if he isn’t one of them.


End file.
